Ink stains
by Lauren The Bishop
Summary: Cocking his head to the side, he smirked as he asked: "Did you miss me, my dear?" "Always," she whispered. This pleased him. Of course, it pleased him. The thought that she completely belonged to him body, mind and soul, and she meants that quite literally, must've stroked his ego immensely. His smirk widened making him look absolutely sinful. "Miss Weasley, concentrate!"
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

When professor Lupin announced they would be learning about boggarts Ginevra Weasley was not surprised.

She'd stifled a snort when Ron had talked about how brave he'd been standing up to a spider and a big one too. 'Lucky bastard,' she'd thought. She hadn't talked to him for a week after that, not that he'd noticed, he'd been glad to be rid of his baby sister for a while. But if anything good had come from his little speech, it was that she'd had time to prepare. That didn't make her any less terrified, though.

She balled her hands into fists instinctively and bit her tongue. She tugged at the elastic wrapped around her wrist, the pain distracting her from the quill she so desperately wanted to grab.

 _No!_

The dairy was gone. It didn't matter how much she wrote anymore, he wouldn't be there to answer either way.

She didn't take the quill or the parchment in front of her and, while she was too scared to smile, she did feel a small bubble of pride well up inside of her. She was doing well, it'd been at least a week since she'd written her feelings down, a week since she'd cried over an answer that would never come.

She clenched her teeth together, remembering her failure only made her bow her head in shame, forced her to blink tears away and later made her want to grab her quill again.

She looked down at the red, angry skin surrounding the elastic and hoped it wouldn't start to bleed, her other wrist wasn't healed yet and if she started to bleed too often people would begin to notice. Well, Percy would notice at least. Two fussing parents and six siblings, but he was the only one she couldn't fool.

Percy was the one who noticed during her first year that she hadn't been eating, that she'd been quivering half of the time, that she'd clung to her quill almost obsessively. Even during the summer, when _he_ was long gone, he'd been the one who'd found her crying over her parchment, hugging a quill to her chest.

"Now repeat after me: RID-DIK-UL-US!"

Ginny mumbled the words along with the rest of the class. Her pronunciation was perfect. As were her wand movements for that matter. But in the end that didn't matter. Of course it wouldn't. The wand movements, the pronunciation of the incantation weren't even difficult. What truly fueled the spell, what truly chased the boggart away was _laughter_.

"You have to look your biggest fear in the eye and laugh at it. You need to force it into a shape that you find amusing. For example, imagining your fear in your grandmothers clothes was a favorite in one of my other classes."

If you were scared of spiders or snakes, fine. You could make those roller-skate or dance. That would be nothing. _Him_ , though, how could you laugh at _him_? How could you do anything to _him_ , turn _him_ into anything other than he was? She'd broken her head trying to find an image of him she could laugh at, but she couldn't for the life of her find anything.

She should've informed professor Lupin, told him she couldn't do it. If he knew her fear, if he knew what kept her awake at night, he would understand. No sane person would put another through that. But she didn't _want_ to. She was a Gryffindor and she was going to act like one. She was going to be brave, brave like Harry. She was going to look him in the eye and laugh. How she didn't know yet, but she would.

The sound of students shooting out of their seats, shook her out of her musings. She hurried after them, into the row. At first, she was standing reasonably at the back of the row, but during the lesson many people chickened out and left their places for the end of the line. As a result she got to the front rather quickly. But, nevertheless, the lesson was nearing its end and she still hadn't gotten to go yet. That was a good thing, right?

Professor Lupin looked at his watch and then clapped his hands saying: "Alright, only one more! Ah, Miss Weasley, come forth, come forth."

She nervously looked around her, wondering when she became the first in line. She could've sworn there were at least several backs before her only a second ago. She wiped her sweating hands off on her robes and took out her wand. Her hands were still clammy though, so she gripped her wand tightly. She was clinging onto it for dear life.

"Miss Weasley, are you alright?"

She imagined his eyes must've been filled with concern, but she didn't look up. It might've made her back out. In retrospect, perhaps that would've been the smart thing to do, but at the time she was determined to face him. So she just jerked her head up and down, nodding.

"Alright, just remember, the incantation is RID-DIK-UL-US," he didn't seem to expect an answer as he quickly took a few steps back.

She walked forward pretending to be more confident than she actually was, but after a few steps she began to falter. Approaching the boggart as it was still in his previous form, a tap dancing professor Snape courtesy to the mind of Connor Creevey, was fairly easy. But then it began to change. That meant _he_ was coming. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

 _Be brave, be brave, brave like Harry, you're a Griffindor, be brave, just like Harry._

Gasps echoed through the room and Ginny stiffened more than she already had. _He_ was there. She realized she was quivering, but, nevertheless, she opened her eyes.

Perfection.

He took her breath away, just like he'd always done. Physically _he_ was completely perfect with his crystal clear, blue eyes and a mop of perfectly styled, pitch black hair. His cheekbones were impossibly high and his skin had a soft pale color. He was at least a foot taller than her. It only made him that much more impressive.

Cocking his head to the side, he smirked as he asked: "Did you miss me, my dear?"

She watched, mesmerized, as his hair fell in front of his beautiful eyes. He was in short angelic. She'd, after all, always thought of him as one of the muggle's angels her dad once told her about. When she was still young and naïve, she used to believe he was her guardian angel, sent down from the sky especially for her.

Now she knew better, of course. Now she knew he was the devil. Lucifer, the most beautiful, most talented of all, yes; but corrupt, arrogant and oh so selfish. That knowledge didn't stop her from answering him truthfully, though.

"Always," she whispered.

This pleased him. Of course, it pleased him. The thought that she completely belonged to him body, mind and soul, and she means that quite literally, must've stroked his ego immensely. His smirk widened making him look absolutely sinful.

"Miss Weasley, concentrate!" a voice snapped from somewhere behind her and she raised her wand, pointing it right at his face. He merely quirked an eyebrow, unimpressed. She felt a pang of disappointment; he wasn't even a little bit scared. Of course she could never threaten _him_ , the real him, but this was a boggart, a copycat and she could vanish him. He ought to at least feel uncomfortable.

" _Riddikulus!"_ she cried, imagining him on roll skates falling flat on his butt. He'd probably be good at that, though. He tended to be graceful whatever he did.

Nothing happened and _he_ continued on as if she hadn't even opened her mouth. _He_ smiled at her and in her mind she remembered the way he used to whisper to her all through the day. _We'll be best friends forever, won't we? They don't understand you like I do, they never will. You love me, don't you, Ginevra? Forever?_

A single tear slipped out of the corner of her eye. She hadn't even noticed she was holding them back, but after one had escaped it became nearly impossible to hold the others back.

"Then why didn't you come for me? All I wanted was to live again, so why didn't you let me? We could've been together. Forever," he looked so earnest, he always did, and for a moment she honestly believed him. _No! Brave, brave like Harry!_

" _Riddikulus!"_

She couldn't hold them back anymore. Tears streamed down her face, but she refused to make a sound. She let her hair fall over her face like a curtain so no one could see it, see her.

"Am I not good enough for you anymore? You're my best friend, Ginevra. Please don't leave me!"

His voice was soft, velvety and exactly as she remembered it. He sounded so broken. She wanted nothing more than to bury her head in his chest and forget about that last night. Would he be as soft as he seemed? As cold as she knew he was inside? No, he'd be warm, he wouldn't show his heart to anyone, frozen as it was. She was quite sure of that but, nevertheless, she wanted to experience it firsthand. _Be brave, Ginny, you're a Gryffindor._

" _Riddikulus!"_

She vaguely remembered she was supposed to say that, but she couldn't remember why. He was pulling all her attention to him. Nothing mattered, nothing except him, and he was reaching out to her. She leaned into his hand instinctively as he stroked her wet, tearstained, cheek. She was right: his pale hand was as warm as her own. When he spoke, though, her heart broke.

"Don't you love me anymore?"

" _Riddikulus!"_

She had to swallow before forcing the word out of her throat and even then it was nothing more than a quiet murmur. She didn't care in the slightest. She was preoccupied watching his expression change. The broken, pleading look was quickly replaced by wicked smirk.

"You still do, don't you? I could ask anything from you."

" _Riddikulus!"_ she whispered for some reason as she shrunk back into herself. She let out a strangled sob as she heard that terribly vicious laugh, the one she always heard right before she woke from a particularly horrifying nightmare, the one she'd known only that last night. It made her blood run cold.

"Yes, I could and I will, trust me, I will. But first I want to give you a little gift."

By the end of the sentence his tone was sugar sweet again. She would never know how he could change masks as easily as he did. He reached into his robes. Her breath hitched as she saw what he'd taken out.

The only way she could ever describe the emotion that coursed through her was _hunger_. She felt as if she had been starved for years and was now presented a plate of her mums pot roast. The craving was overwhelming and stronger than anything she'd ever felt before. In his hands lay a worn out, black dairy. Her dairy.

She immediately made a grab for it. She dived at it, snarling like a vicious animal, desperate to once again feel the paper beneath her fingers. She had a quill on her desk if she was fast she could get it and scribble something down in less than a minute. Better yet, she could make a run for it, hide somewhere and spend the rest of her days writing, watching the ink be sucked into the dairy so they could form a response, the response of her very own prince charming.

Then she could finally feel her emotions, her worries and her fears stream out of her again until she was left with nothing more than a content feeling. But that would take time, it'd take an amount of self-restrained she wasn't sure she had.

She'd never know though; she never got to touch it. Instead she felt a hand grasping her shoulder right before she was thrown on the floor, away from her precious diary, away from _him_. She scrambled to her knees ready to try again and remove whatever was stupid enough to get between them. But he was already gone and he'd taken her dairy with him. In his place stood a large, glowing ball mostly blocked from her by the large figure standing in front of her.

" _RIDDIKULUS!_ " the form yelled and the glowing ball turned into a balloon flyingin a straight line into the closet.

The figure turned around, then, revealing himself to be a middle-aged man. 'Professor Lupin' her mind supplied numbly. "Class dismissed." He spoke so softly it almost seemed no one had hear him, but after a minute the class started to grab their bags and leave the classroom.

She stayed on the floor though. She didn't move while the professor ushered the other students out of the room, payed no attention to the looks they shot at her. What was the point? He was gone again. He'd been dangled in front of her only to be ripped away right before she could grab onto him. Once again the world had fallen away and she spent the time it took to get the others out looking numbly at the place he'd stood only seconds ago.

She flinched as the door slammed shut. It wouldn't take long anymore. He'd seen her, the true, broken her, in fact everyone had, but the others were students, children; her damaged soul had been slammed into their faces, yes, but she doubted they recognized it for what it was. The professor wasn't a child, though. He was much worse: mature and intelligent enough to recognize the problem, but still idiotic enough to think he could fix it. So she wasn't surprised when he crouched in front of her, offering her the chocolate he always seemed to be carrying around.

"Here, it'll help."

No, it wouldn't, but she took it anyway and nibbled at it to make him feel better.

She still wasn't looking at him, her gaze was still fixated on the place in front of the closet. Nevertheless, she wondered: would he be like her parents, blaming her for her naivety, or like Percy, unable to do anything but trying nonetheless? He hadn't shouted, ranted or taken her in a bone-crushing hug yet, so she supposed her he was more like Percy. She hadn't decided yet whether that was a good thing or not, though.

"Miss Weasley," he paused and she felt the inquiry hanging in the air. 'Look at me' the silence said, but that would mean tearing her eyes away from that spot on the floor. If she looked away she might not find that spot again and she'd be left with nothing. She wasn't ready for that so instead she nodded. "Who was that?"

What a good question. It was so simple in itself and yet its answer was impossible to put into words. Because how do you describe him? She'd always called him angelic, to put his mesmerizing beauty and unlimited talent in words, but that would require him to be kind and pure and loving and she couldn't ever pretend he was any of those things again.

She would compared him to the muggle's devil, Lucifer, more beautiful and talented than anyone else but arrogant, cruel and selfish; that would mean there was someone like him, though, and she refused to accept that he was anything but unique.

That didn't leave her with much option, did it? Of course she could write essay after essay detailing his kind words and cruel laugh, but each would be incomplete, would only offer a glimpse at his true nature. She supposed you had to meet him, to truly grasp it. And while she couldn't make the professor understand, there was one word that said it all, to her at least.

She hadn't said it in months, had never been able to get it over her tongue. But what else could she tell the kind man, crouching in front of her, waiting so patiently for her answer? So she dragged her unblinking eyes to his and for the first time since she'd held her dairy in her hands she spoke his name.

"Tom."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Tom," professor Lupin repeated after her, as if to test how it felt rolling off his tongue. Ginny smiled bitterly as she remembered how she'd done that herself; she'd tried out every combination possible to decide what she'd call herself after they'd married: Ginevra Tom Marvolo Riddle, Ginevra T. M. Riddle, Ginevra Riddle,... It's one of the few things she'd never told him out of fear that he'd laugh at her. How stupid she'd been.

Hesitantly he asked: "This Tom, he was not a normal boy, was he?"

Her ugly smile widened as she confirmed: "No, he wasn't."

"And, if I may ask, what happened to Tom?" he continued to inquire.

Ginny tilted her head to the side as she realized she must've been frightening him. Hers was after all not a normal reaction to a boggart; most would probably run from their fear instead of at them. Not to mention the way she was behaving afterwards, showcasing her broken soul because she didn't have the strength to hide anymore. Blocking him out, and closing her eyes in the process, she decided that this would not do. She'd fooled everyone in her family, even Percy to a certain extent; she could hide it from a professor she didn't even know as well.

"Harry killed him, that's what professor Dumbledore said," the answer naturally rolled off her tongue. She'd said it so many times over the summer so how could it not?

"You don't believe him?" he asked as a response to the lack of conviction in her voice.

She snorted before she could stop herself. _Dammit!_ She could feel his gaze burning through her, asking her to elaborate. She didn't answer immediately though; she was mindful not to make another mistake as foolish as her blunder from a few minutes before. She steeled herself first, clenching the muscles of her stomach and carefully controlling her breaths. She imagined physical walls being raised in front of her eyes, imagined miniature versions of herself faithfully standing guard on them with their wands raised and ready to fight off any possible intruder.

When she did speak her voice didn't sounded monotone as it had each time before, but instead like the scared child she supposed professor Lupin expected her to be. She was pleased with how convincing her meek tone sounded even to her own ears: "It's hard to accept that anyone can hurt him."

"Ginny, I want you to be honest with me; if you don't want to say something you don't have to, but be honest," the professor said after a few moments of consideration and paused again after his demand for the truth. _Fat chance!_ She almost cackled out loud. How many times had she heard that now already? From how many people?

He cleared his throat, before softly asking: "Did Tom ever touch you in some way you'd didn't want to?"

"Did he rape me?" she asked, frowning.

Had he? He'd wormed his way inside of her. He'd abused her body in a way that had scarred her for life. He'd discarded her afterwards as if she was nothing but a bag of flesh and blood, a toy for him to do with as he pleased. But hadn't she been willing? He hadn't asked, but if he had, wouldn't she have given her soul in a heartbeat. Yes, she would've. She'd have given him everything, her body, mind and soul, because he owned it all anyway. But he hadn't asked, had he? Did that make it rape, mind rape?

Eventually, she decided to answer him as honestly as possibly, just like he'd asked: "In a way, I suppose. I'm not sure."

He nodded as if that made sense. She knew it didn't though.

 _Pathetic!_ She could almost hear him hiss in her ears and winced, because she knew he was right. How could you not know whether you were raped or not? Even if it was a mind rape. Ginny didn't know whether the professor had seen her flinch; he acted as if she hadn't either way.

Instead he continued asking: "Did he do something to you or made you do anything you didn't want?"

She hadn't wanted to petrify people, had she? She hoped not, but unlike professor Dumbledore and her family she wasn't sure. Guilt made her stomach swirl. If she'd had to choose between displeasing him and murder… She was an awful witch! How could she even think about putting her own stupid addiction before the lives of others?

Her inner turmoil, fueled by the fact that she didn't know the answer to that horrible question, wrecked her practiced composure and made her stutter out the truth in a way she'd only just guarded herself against: "I think so. But it's not, he didn't, it wasn't…" she paused for a second to catch her breath and to decide on an answer "It wasn't in a sexual way."

"Oh?" The professors soft voice betrayed none of the confusion or surprise that she was sure he must've been feeling. He simply continued as if they were talking about the weather. "Can you tell me in what way then?"

"No."

She couldn't get it over her lips. She was barely able to say his name, could barely think it; how in Merlin's name was she supposed to explain the indescribably perfect boy that had stolen her heart, the beautiful words he'd used to do so? How could she explain the fear of blacking out, of knowing you we're petrifying people, of knowing you might wake up someday a killer? Worst of all, how could she explain how much she still missed him.

"I'm sorry, but I can't. Please don't make me."

Ginny slowly swallowed the bile that had risen in her throat and waited for the professor's inventible reaction. Now she'd finally be able to decide to whether he was a Percy or not. Would he become angry and demand answers before forgetting it had happened at all like most of her family, would he watch her like a hawk and give her annoying yet useful tips like her practical brother Percy or would he dismiss her and pretend as if it had never happened after he'd told her she could always come to her like Dumbledore had done?

Professor Lupin shook his head and, with a pained expression, he told her: "You don't need to say anything you're not ready to say, Miss Weasley. Not at all."

Then, sensing that the conversation was over and that she wouldn't reveal anything anymore, he offered her his hand. She stared at it for a few seconds, before taking it so he could pull her up. When she was finally standing on her own two feet again, professor Lupin gave her a warm smile. She instinctively smiled back, though hers was but a tiny curl of her lips, but his eyes were still wary and they betrayed his worry. After a few seconds he gave the smile up and told her one last thing:

"I do not wish to presume anything about what you went through, Miss Weasley, but you'll find that I do understand just how horrifying and traumatic loss of control over your body and mind is. If you need someone to listen, I'll always have an ear ready for you. In fact I have two and I can solemnly swear that they are in top condition," he finished his sentence with another grin and Ginny smiled politely back again.

"Thank you, professor. Uhm, could I…" she stammered pointing at the door.

Raising his eyebrows in realization, he said: "Yes, yes, of course! You're next lesson shall be beginning soon, I suppose. If your professor gives you any trouble, just direct him to me and I'll sort everything out."

"Thanks," she mumbled again before making her way to the door, a feat which proved to be much more difficult than you'd expect: she had to quell the horrible urge to sprint out of the professor's sight, away from the eyes she felt burning holes in her back and when she finally managed to get out of the room she had to go back for her schoolbag, which she'd forgotten!

Ginny spent the rest of the day ignoring everyone who came to her asking what had happened, it was the talk of the school. All her brothers came to talk to her, at least the ones still in school: Ron frowned a little and asked her if she was alright before nodding and running off to his friends, the twins spent dinner time trying to cheer her up with dumb jokes and pranking Ron and Percy gave her a quick hug, before asking her whether she'd written or not.

Surprisingly, it was her talk with Percy that had lightened up her day the most; she'd been able to tell him that "No, I haven't even touched a quill except for school." and had smiled when he told her how proud he was of her.

She'd sat down and figured out professor Lupin as well. After his last words she was certain that he was in fact a Dumbledore; his calm, knowing attitude had made that quite clear, though he seemed much more approachable than the headmaster. Nevertheless, as long as she acted normal and ignored him, she didn't expect him to mention it ever again. How wrong she was.

"Miss Weasley, could you please stay for minute?"

Every few weeks he'd ask her if she'd found a solution to her boggart-problem, if she'd found something to turn him into and every time she'd answer that "No, I haven't, but I'm still thinking about it." and then he'd reply that he had a boggart ready for her when she did to which she'd smile politely, before making an excuse to get out of that classroom.

Saying no to his offer of letting her fight her boggart again was perhaps even harder than resisting the urge to write; seeing _his_ face again would've been heavenly and she had to pull at the elastic on her wrist at least ten times each time he offered. In fact, the only reason she could refuse is because she knew it'd anger him. He was after all completely unique and he'd have found the copycat the boggart was highly offensive.

These small conversations continued to happen during the entire year. Each time Ginny thought he'd given up, he'd surprise her again. His insistence made her correct her previous assumption: professor Lupin was a Percy after all.

It was only at the end of the year that she realized that this was in fact a good thing. It was her last lesson in Defense against the Dark Arts and after much consideration she decided to do something she'd never done before in professor Lupin's class, she decides to linger until everyone had left the room leaving her alone with the professor. She'd planned on taking the initiative this time and opened her mouth to speak after she'd heard the door slam shut, but the words were left hanging in her throat.

 _In Merlin's name, you can do this, Ginny!_ Eventually, though, it was the professor that spoke first.

"Can I help you with something, Miss Weasley?" he asked from behind his desk at the front of the room.

She cleared her throat, before stating: "You're a werewolf."

She winced at her own blunt tone. _That did not come out as planned._ She saw him stand up straight, swallow and purse his lips. She recognized this as a sign that he was bracing himself for the prejudice, ranting or fear that he no doubt expected; she should know she did it herself every time even brought up her first year.

Grinning amicably, albeit a bit forced he responded: "Been talking to your brother I suppose."

She nodded. Technically, she'd just overheard him talking about it with Harry, but that wasn't the point. The point was: "That's what you meant. When you said you understand what it's like to lose control."

He looked up in slight surprise. Apparently he hadn't been expecting this turn of events. "Yes, that's what I meant."

She swallowed back tears; he actually understood.

She'd done some research on werewolves and what she'd found all pointed to one thing: he understood what it was like to black out, the fear of waking up in a puddle of blood, the pull of something so much stronger than you.

It all flowed out: how she'd found an old, worn diary between her schoolbooks and had thought it to be a present from her mother, how she'd written in it and had seen it write back. She told him how _he_ had pulled her into his memories and of how utterly perfect he'd been in the beginning, how he'd charmed her and how she'd fallen in love with him.

Then she confessed how she'd woken up with rooster feathers on her robes and red paint on her fingers, how she'd started to black out more and more.

Lastly she told him how she'd woken up in the chamber of secrets with wet clothes and Harry next to her, how much she'd instantly missed him and how her family had forgotten her.

She couldn't stop the tears nor could she speak his name and every few sentences a sob interrupted her, but neither could she stop talking. It was the first time she'd ever told anyone everything and it felt as if a gigantic weight had been lifted of her shoulders.

Through it all, professor Lupin nodded and made small sounds to indicate he was in fact listening. When she was finally done talking she dried her cheeks with the sleeves of his robes and looked up at him. His face betrayed nothing, his thoughtful expression carefully concealed everything he thought. He was silent for so long that she took it upon herself to speak.

"I'm insane," she concluded for him.

He raised his eyebrows and responded: "Quite the contrary, you're most likely the strongest person I've ever met."

"Just broken." She added in his places. A broken toy, that's what she was. She could hear him laughing in the back of her head, the charming chuckle he'd use every time she'd tell an awful joke, and took that as confirmation.

"Look at me, Ginny," he demanded softly, but forcefully and she obeyed immediately, looking her dead in the eye. "You are hurt, not broken. No one can ever break you unless you let them."

He kept staring into her eyes as if that would make her believe him. She wanted to, though. She wanted to believe that everything would get better, that she could fight the hold this beautiful demon had on her heart. But she knew what he would snarl if she still had her diary, her connection to him: _You are mine and mine alone! What do you think a pathetic, little girl and a washed-out half-breed of a professor can stop me? Tell me you aren't that stupid, Ginevra._

She looked away and the professor sighed disappointedly, knowing he hadn't gotten through to her, not where it counted. Perhaps he was planning on continuing to try, perhaps he was planning on letting it go, either way there was still one thing she wanted to do before going back home.

"I know this was the last lesson and all, but I was hoping you still had that boggart."

He cleared his throat in surprise and answered: "Yes, yes, of course. Did you find something?"

"Yeah," she frowned as she nodded, "I think so."

Maybe he realized she wasn't going to tell him what it was, because he didn't ask. It's not that she didn't trust him, obviously she did seeing as she'd just told him her darkest secrets, but she was scared he wouldn't think it would work and, as a result, wouldn't let her try.

She couldn't have that, she needed to try this. So she was very glad when he said: "Well, good. I'll go get it, then."

She whispered the incantation a few time to check if she was pronouncing it right, she said it perfectly, and practiced to wand movements, perfect as well. Professor Lupin appeared before her with the closet in what felt like seconds. He went to stand behind her and told her: "If anything goes wrong I'll be right behind you."

She nodded, closing her eyes and took deep breaths: _in and out, in and out_. She tightened her grasp on her wand and raised it. She waited and waited until finally she heard a little click. The door was open. _He's standing right in front of you! All you'd have to do is reach out and you'll be touching him! Isn't that what has kept you up every night this year, his warm hand against your skin?_

But that wasn't him, that was a boggart and she'd be damned if she succumbed to a cheap copy of him. Her breathing got harder to control but she managed, albeit barely. She opens her eyes.

He was just as perfect as the last time, a mischievous smirk adorning his sharp, perfect features: "There you are, my love."

She could feel her muscles relax in response to his voice, could feel herself melt. But she caught herself, she couldn't let him best her again, not this thing. She didn't even need the professor's warning, though she appreciated him calling out her name in attempt to wake her from her momentary stupor. She looked at him and decided that he was bland. Yes, this boy was handsome and absolutely swoon worthy, but he didn't hold a candle to _him_.

"What's the matter, my dear?" the imitator asked, sensing that something was wrong. He couldn't fool her though, and she'd make sure he knew his mistake. She'd never been able to mask her emotions in front of _him_ , but nevertheless she managed to tell the replica in a completely monotone voice:

"You're not him. _Riddikulus_."

The copy tried to snarl at her in a last attempt to frighten her after all, but he was too late. It was already starting to change: its expression and body froze, it was pressed together and its texture changed.

That's how the copy of the angelic boy she loved became a cardboard. That's how Ginny smiled.


End file.
